


Sugar

by cheshireflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baker!Harry, Bakery!AU, M/M, So are Liam and Zayn, and fluff, but none of them are actually in the fic, coffee shop!AU, it's basically 13k words of fluff, lots of puns, nick is mentioned - Freeform, puns, there are puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-02 00:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11497686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshireflowers/pseuds/cheshireflowers
Summary: “I hope our paths will ‘croissant’ again.”There’s a little smiley face drawn next to the words, and it’s ridiculous, Louis knows, but he can’t help the swell of butterflies that he feels as he reads over the words once more.An odd fellow indeed, he thinks.A moment later he shakes his head and collects himself, because he really does need to get home; he’s sure that Harry is probably watching him from behind the counter, all sweet, smug smiles and pink cheeks. And if he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure he won’t toss his groceries into the trash and walk straight back into the bakery if he doesn’t leave now, so… he really does need to get going.Before he goes on his way, though, he plucks the note from the top of the container and carefully tucks it inside of his wallet to protect it from the rain.That’s how it begins.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://cheshireflowers.tumblr.com/post/152430674403/pure-hearts-stumble-when-you-see-someone-cute) post on tumblr.

It begins on a Sunday.

It had been an ordinary day, for all intents and purposes – a bland, rainy afternoon. Louis had been out and about for the better part of the morning, having left the comfort of his flat to pick up eggs and milk from the local market.

In retrospect, it had been a poor decision not to bring an umbrella with him on his trip; he had seen the weather reports for this afternoon and heard the talk of the rain that was meant to be moving in. But being the stubborn arse that he was, he’d told himself that it would be a quick trip – that he would be out and back before the storm even began. That idea had been snubbed quickly, though, as he’d been on his way back and rain had started falling in sheets, cold and wet and drenching him from head to toe.

He had cursed, and without thinking ducked into the first building he could find with an unlocked door – which had so happened to be an obscure bakery with cream-colored walls and a wood-paneled front counter.  

“Bloody hell,” he’d exclaimed, pausing just inside the doors to glare down at his newly soaked clothing. Surely mother nature had something against him, personally – this storm hadn’t been forecasted to begin until late into the afternoon, and he’d left his flat around 10:00, not more than two hours ago.

“You should have brought an umbrella,” someone says, and Louis startles, having forgotten for a moment that the building he’d ducked into may very well have had other people inside – people who’d been smart enough to take cover before they’d been drenched by the rain. He blinks, his cheeks hot for a split second as he looks in the direction of the stranger who’d made the remark.

Despite the momentary embarrassment, he recovers quickly; his startled expression dissolves into one of petty annoyance as he surveys the lad, who appears to be an employee of the bakery –  that is, if the red apron he’s wearing is anything to go by. He’s wearing an amused smirk to accompany the apron, and Louis finds himself resisting a sudden urge to take one of the eggs from the soggy carton in his grocery bag and pelt the boy with it.

_No shit, Sherlock,_ Louis thinks. “Gee, thanks for the sage advice,” he says. The words are less biting than the ones in his mind, but there’s an edge of sarcasm to them, definitely. The lad doesn’t seem too bothered, though – just snorts and goes back to work behind the counter, wiping down the already-clean counters with a wet rag. Louis brushes the encounter off, and moves to find himself a booth with a thick sigh.

The bakery is nearly empty save for the boy behind the counter, as luck would have it – there’s a girl in the corner with headphones in and several textbooks spread out in front of her, but the booths are otherwise empty. Louis is grateful for that – as much as he hopes that the storm will blow over soon, he doesn’t know how long he’s going to be stuck here, and what with his current predicament, he’s certainly glad that he won’t have to wait among a crowd of noisy patrons. He’d like to think he’s fairly tolerant of people, but today, with his clothes wet and sticking to his skin and his lingering annoyance at the weather, he finds comfort the relative silence.

He’s just gotten comfortable (as comfortable as he’s going to get, anyhow) when apron-boy comes moseying over, smile withstanding as he sets a steaming mug of tea down in front of Louis.  “Here you go, mate. Thought you could use a cuppa,” he says. Louis squints at him, then – he still looks just a little too pleased with himself, if he’s being honest, but the kind gesture is almost enough to make him feel bad for snapping at the lad. Almost.

“Uh, thanks?” he says, a bit hesitant as he wraps his cold hands around the warm ceramic of the mug. The boy hums in response, and a moment later he’s off again, back to cleaning up nonexistent messes ‘round the bakery. Louis stares after him, befuddled at the way he’d gone straight from mocking him to giving him a complimentary cup of tea. He shakes his head a minute later, though, a bit of his confusion and annoyance dwindling as he takes a sip of the tea; it’s delightfully warm, and despite his general discomfort, he feels at ease for a moment.

It takes a little while to set in, but the longer he sits there, sipping at his cuppa and alternating between staring out the window at the rain and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook on his phone, the calmer he feels.  And after some time, he begins to think that _maybe_ there was some possibility that he had misinterpreted apron boy’s first comment. He could have chalked the idea up to his lack of more interesting things to think about at the moment, but if he’s being honest, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been short with the wrong person due to his own petty annoyance. He sighs at that, and with a glance in the direction of the boy, makes the executive decision to apologize.

“Oi,” he says as he stands from his seat and walks toward the counter, where the boy has taken to waiting by the register for customers that definitely aren’t going to come anytime soon. This time around it’s Louis who’s met with a startled blink, and he waits until he hears a soft hum of acknowledgment to go on. “Thank you. For the cuppa, I mean. You didn’t have to do that.”

The kid simply shrugs at Louis’ thanks, the smile returning to his face. “Don’t mention it. It seemed like you were having a rough day,” he reasons, looking Louis up and down pointedly as he says the words. Louis chuckles. 

“You could say that,” he sighs, and shuffles his feet a bit as he works to swallow his pride. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, too. Didn’t mean to make you an unsuspecting casualty of my rough day.”

“Again, don’t mention it,” apron-boy says, brushing the apology off with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Believe me, I’ve had worse things shouted at me.”

Louis smiles at that, quietly amused at the idea of angry, caffeine-deprived folks shouting in the poor lad’s face over their wrongly-made lattes. “I’m Louis,” he says simply, taking a moment to brush his damp fringe back from his eyes. With a dimpled smile, the boy rounds the counter and extends his hand.

“Harry,” he supplies, and Louis nods as he takes his new acquaintance’s hand and gives it a firm shake. Harry’s skin is warm, much like the mug of tea that the baker had given him. It’s quite the opposite of Louis’ own cold, slightly clammy hands.

They’re quiet for a moment, then, Louis averting his eyes and Harry still smiling as he draws his hand back and watches the lad in front of him for a bit. Eventually the silence gets a bit too thick for Louis’ liking, though, and he flashes Harry a mischievous smile as he meets the kind lad’s eyes again.

“All that aside, though, should you really be giving away free tea on days like this?” he teases, and grins in response to the startled look Harry gives him. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but... It’s eerily quiet in here.”

Harry pouts at that, and with a glance around the bakery, shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not terribly worried about it. Margo doesn’t get bothered about much,” he reasons, and Louis assumes that Margo must be the owner of the bakery. He’s about to ask if weather like this typically makes business slow, but before he gets the chance, the smirk he’d been met with when he’d first barged into the bakery has reappeared. “Besides… I’d say I’m pretty selective about the lads I give free teas to.”

Louis doesn’t catch the meaning behind Harry’s words, not at first, and without thinking he scoffs and gives Harry an amused look. “Oh? Your complimentary cuppas have standards, do they?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing to smile at his lanky friend. Again, Harry doesn’t look terribly phased – his smirk keeps its place, and there’s a playful glint in his eyes to match the one in Louis’ as he responds.

“They certainly do. Let’s see,” he begins, and looks off as though he’s got to think something through. “To get a free tea from me you’ve got to be quick-witted… a bit mischievous, but still kind…” he lists, ticking his points off on the fingers of his left hand as he says them. “ _Oh_ ,” he declares, then, and points skyward as though he’s just had an epiphany. “And you’ve got to be quite bloody fit, too.”

And – and, _oh._

Louis hadn’t expected _that._

“O-Oh?” he sputters, his surprise showing on his face for a moment. “Is that so?”

If Louis’ obvious shock affects Harry at all, he doesn’t show it; he still looks as proud as ever. “It is,” he confirms, and Louis blinks. He stares unabashedly for a moment, at Harry and his silly red apron. He takes in the bright smile on the boy’s face, and the dark hair that’s been piled haphazardly into a bun on top of his head, and he’s a bit surprised to find himself catching his breath.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. He mentally facepalms the moment the word leaves his mouth – he doesn’t think he could make a bigger fool of himself if he tried. It’s not that he isn’t charming, because he definitely is, it’s just – it’s been literal ages since he’s flirted with someone, let alone _been_ flirted with, and it’s safe to say that he’s a little rusty. Harry continues to take it in stride, though, the smile on his face softening a bit as he gauges Louis’ expression.

“I don’t find lads that meet the criteria often, so I’d wager that my job is probably safe,” he hedges, and at that Louis manages a smile.

“I suppose I ought to feel special, then,” he muses, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jumper for a moment before taking a minor leap and winking at Harry. He’s sure it looks as clumsy as it feels when he does it, but he tries not to think too much about it. Harry lights up regardless, cheeks pinkening as he nods his head.

“You really should,” he agrees, taking a moment to smile at Louis before turning and making his way back behind the counter. Louis stands still for a moment, feeling a bit like his shoes have been duct-taped to the floor as he works up the nerve to follow. He manages eventually, and moves to take a seat at the counter rather than at the booth he’d initially chosen. He rests his chin in his hand as he watches Harry flit about for a bit, presumably surveying the premises for any more imaginary messes that might need tidying up. With a sigh, he averts his eyes – he’s not sure where all of this bloody awkwardness is coming from, or what it is about Harry that seems to have provoked it. He certainly hopes that it’ll subside soon, though, because the more he really _looks_ at Harry, the more obvious it becomes that the he’s really bloody attractive, and well. He doesn’t want to unintentionally derail whatever attraction the baker might have to him.

Harry doesn’t come back into earshot for a moment or two, and for the sake of not staring after him like some sort of creep, Louis takes to eyeing the baked goods in the display case to his left. The pastries all look delightful; it’s obvious that Harry has spent a fair bit of his spare time arranging them, and he finds it hard to keep his mouth from watering as reads the names of each treat.

“Hungry?” the aforementioned boy says a few minutes into Louis’s examination of a particularly buttery-looking croissant, and Louis blinks as he turns his gaze back on his new friend. He’s found his way back to the counter where Louis is sitting, and he’s leaning back against the cupboards across from it, arms crossed over his chest.

“Nah, I’m alright. Can’t have you giving away the treats your poor coworkers slave over because you happen to be smitten,” he teases, feeling a bit like he has his footing back as he watches Harry bite his lip and grin. It feels good, he’s got to admit – sudden as the flirtation may have been, watching the other boy light up like he does in response to his cheeky remark makes Louis feel warm, despite the rain outside.

“I bake them, actually,” Harry says, looking quite smug. “So I don’t think they would be terribly offended.” Louis simply shakes his head in response to the revelation, though, suppressing a smile as he does so.

“That seems awfully convenient, Harold,” he accuses, clearly a bit suspicious (but much more endeared). His eyes are narrowed, but his voice is much too soft for the accusation to be taken seriously. Harry, on the other hand, looks downright offended.

“No, really! I baked all of these this morning, honest,” he insists, the pout he’d been wearing earlier making another appearance as he takes a step forward and places one hand on the top of the display case. “Well, apart from the Oreo stacks. Those come frozen.”

Louis can’t help but snicker at Harry’s testament, which only serves to deepen the lad’s pout. “Quite a shame, that. That’s the one I wanted,” he starts, and laughs wholeheartedly when Harry plucks a napkin from a nearby dispenser to crumple up and throw at him.

“That’s it. No baked goods for you,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and returning to his place by the cupboards. Louis snorts, leaning forward a bit and shaking his head at the ridiculous boy. He’s not entirely sure how he’d gone from wanting to pelt him with an egg to wondering what it might be like to poke one of those silly dimples, and yet.

Speaking of eggs, though –

“Shit,” he curses, sparing a glance toward the booth where he’d left his groceries. “I nearly forgot about my eggs and milk. They’re definitely going to spoil if I don’t get them home soon.”

Harry frowns at Louis’ sudden realization, and steps forward again in favor of following the smaller lad’s gaze. “You’re not wrong,” he admits with a sigh. “It’s been about an hour since you got in. Milk doesn’t fare too well outside of a refrigerator.”

By the time Louis looks at Harry again, he’s begun to look rather solemn. He almost laughs at that – not that anything is all that funny. It’s just… the baker just looks so genuinely concerned about the state of his groceries. _What an odd fellow_ , he thinks.

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but I might just have to brave the rain. I just spent the last of me cash on those groceries,” he admits, and Harry nods his head. He’s still looking a bit disappointed, so Louis takes the napkin that had previously been tossed at him and flicks it at Harry’s chest, just for good measure. It earns him a smile, which he figures is good enough for the time being.

“Thank you again for the tea. And for your company,” Louis goes on to say as he stands. He shoots Harry one last wink, waiting for the lad’s quiet acknowledgment before turning and walking back to his original seat to collect his groceries. He wrinkles his nose as he glances out the window at the rain – his clothes have just begun to dry, and he’s not particularly looking forward to going back out into the storm and being soaked all over again. He’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t, though, so he’s going to have to suck it up.

He’s just picked up his groceries and started toward the doors when he hears Harry call his name, and turns to find the boy jogging toward him. There’s a plastic container in his hand, which, if Louis is seeing correctly, holds the croissant he’d been admiring moments ago. Harry holds the container out to him, smiling crookedly.

“For the road, yeah?” he says, and Louis can’t help but smile as he takes the croissant.

“Thought I didn’t get any baked goods,” he comments, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, and it’s obvious that he hasn’t got a suave response to Louis’ playful quip. Louis grins and reaches to give Harry a good-natured nudge.

“Thanks, love,” he says, and Harry softens.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. It takes him a moment, it seems, but eventually he turns to find his way back to his station behind the counter. Louis takes that as his cue to leave, and turns to make his way out, warmth sprouting in his chest.

It’s not until he’s already let the doors close behind him that he notices a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the top of the container that Harry had given him. He’s just paused for a moment beneath the bakery’s sunshade to prepare himself for the terribly wet and cold trip home, and as he’s about to tuck the croissant into the sack with the eggs, he catches sight of the little note and stops to have a closer look.

And then he laughs, hard. Because written on the post-it in lovely, loopy script, is a pick-up line.

_“I hope our paths will ‘croissant’ again.”_

There’s a little smiley face drawn next to the words, and it’s ridiculous, Louis knows, but he can’t help the swell of butterflies that he feels as he reads over the words once more. An odd fellow indeed, he thinks.

A moment later he shakes his head and collects himself, because he really does need to get home; he’s sure that Harry is probably watching him from behind the counter, all sweet, smug smiles and pink cheeks. And if he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure he won’t toss his groceries into the trash and walk straight back into the bakery if he doesn’t leave now, so… he really does need to get going.

 Before he goes on his way, though, he plucks the note from the top of the container and carefully tucks it inside of his wallet to protect it from the rain.

 That’s how it begins.

-

Louis visits the bakery again the following Tuesday afternoon. It’s not an accident this time, no –  it’s entirely purposeful, and largely a result of the prodding that his mates had done when they’d gotten a look at the quirky note Harry had sent him home with.

To be completely fair, he had already been planning on going back – he did want to see Harry again, definitely, because all stubbornness on his part aside, he couldn’t deny the fondness he felt for the sweet boy. He had spent a good chunk of that first Sunday night thinking about those warm hands and that lovely dimpled smile, but he hadn’t _actually_ been planning on returning to the bakery quite so soon – he had figured he would at least wait until the following weekend. But that had been before his flat mate had found him sat on the couch, admiring Harry’s handwriting as he’d munched on the croissant that the post-it had come attached to.

Niall had demanded to know the story behind the absurd note, and long story short, he had convinced Louis on the spot to go back and visit Harry as soon as he got the chance. It hadn’t _really_ taken much convincing, in the end – the only real obstacle had been Louis’ stubborn belief that going back for a visit so quickly would make him look desperate (which he was _not,_ thank you very much). With a bit of help from Zayn, who’d been reigned into the conversation via a text message from Niall, Louis had agreed to go back and pay Harry a visit sooner rather than later.

Louis can see Harry through the window as he approaches the bakery, and when he first walks in, he finds himself wondering if the baker will even remember him. But then the lad whirls around behind the counter, and the way his eyes light up when he sees Louis is more than enough to calm his insecurity.  

“Louis!” he exclaims, dusting his hands off on his apron. They appear to be covered in flour –  or powdered sugar, maybe. Whatever the powdery white substance is, it’s also smeared across Harry’s left cheek, and Louis can’t help but grin as he takes in the sight of the lad.

“Harold,” he says in response, quirking an eyebrow as he looks the boy over. “What’s all this? D’you get into a disagreement with the baked goods?”  

Harry snorts, narrowing his eyes at Louis as he moves to stand at the counter beside the bake case – the same place that Louis had been seated Sunday night. Louis moves to sit down at the counter without hesitating. “I told you I did most of the baking ‘round here,” he points out, and Louis shrugs.

“Had to see it to believe it, I suppose. I’ve got to admit, that croissant you gave me was so good I had me doubts,” he teases, and Harry rolls his eyes. His smile is still undeniably fond, though, even as he moves to flick a bit of the flour-that-could-be-powdered-sugar in Louis direction before turning and heading toward the sink to rinse his hands off, instead.

Louis spends a moment watching him as he does it – watching the way that his biceps flex just a bit as he scrubs at his hands. The slight tilt of his head makes the slope of his shoulders look absolutely delightful, and Louis thinks he can see what looks like a couple of stray, curly hairs escaping the bun that Harry is still sporting. He thinks, then, that he might like to pluck the boy’s hair tie from its place – just to watch all of that long, dark hair tumble down, long and messy and soft.

And _Christ,_ he’s already fucked, isn’t he?

Harry turns back around a minute later, and by then Louis has averted his eyes, cheeks warm as he studies the countertop for a bit.

“Well, I’m offended at your lack of faith in me, of course, but I am glad that you came back for more,” the baker says, and Louis smiles up at him.

“I’d be a fool not come back for another taste of your culinary genius, Curly,” he says, expression entirely serious for a brief couple of moments. He lets a smile slip, however, as he goes on. “And besides, the company is pretty good, too.” He punctuates his last statement with a nod at Harry, and then it’s there again – that sparkle in the lad’s eyes that he’d seen the last time they’d spoken.

Louis notices now that Harry’s eyes are a startling shade of green, and for a split second, his chest feels a bit tight.

“Can I get you anything, then?” the curly boy says, then, and Louis nods.

“Surprise me,” he answers. He reaches into the pocket of his coat before Harry can move toward the display case, though, holding up one finger to signal Harry to wait just a second. “You’re not getting away with giving me free treats anymore, though,” he says, and places a couple of notes on the counter in front of him. “I’ve got about 7 quid.” _7 quid that I stole from the pocket of Niall’s jumper,_ he thinks, and smirks. He’ll deal with the Irish lad’s irritation later.

Harry laughs, though, and shakes his head at Louis as he takes the notes and goes to the register, first. He hits a few buttons, and when the cash drawer pops open, he places the appropriate number of notes inside. He returns with Louis’ change a moment later, but Louis only takes the change and promptly drops it into the tip jar, nearby. He grins when Harry narrows his eyes.

“That’s for the croissant,” he reasons, and Harry purses his lips, doing his damndest to mask his smile as he steps back toward the bake case and opens it up, plucking a small, yellow cake from one of the white plates inside. It’s soft and spongey and topped with white frosting, and Louis recognizes it as the “ _Pineapple Sunshine”_ cake, as he’d read its name Sunday night.

Louis isn’t the biggest fan of pineapple, he’ll admit. He doesn’t say that, though – he just smiles, picking up the fork Harry gives him immediately and prodding the cake gently. It does look quite lovely, the chunks of pineapple he can see in the frosting aside, and a moment later he takes a small bite.

And Harry is looking at him expectantly, so he hums quietly and takes another bite. “Even better than the croissant,” he acknowledges, even though he doesn’t think so at all. Harry’s answering grin is worth it, though, so he thinks his little white lie can probably be forgiven.

Harry is about to respond when the doors of the bakery open up, casting a cool breeze into the building, and a rather large family shuffles inside. He can hear Harry sigh at that, and he waves the boy off when he turns and shuffles toward the register, casting him an apologetic look as he does so. He knows that his lovely friend does have a job to do, after all, and he’s not about to be offended at that.

He takes the chance that the interruption gives him to collect a glass of water from the condiment bar nearby. He sips at it as he returns to his seat and works on the cake; it makes the tangy flavor of pastry a bit more tolerable, and within a moment or two, he has the treat more than halfway eaten.

It’s quite a while before Harry returns – apparently, the family that’d come in had made quite the order, and he ends up spending quite a bit of time preparing drinks and crafting sandwiches for them. Louis just watches quietly the whole time, a small smile on his face as he admires how quickly and gracefully he performs each task. It’s a bit like a choreographed dance, he thinks, and wonders how long Harry has been working here.

When the lad does return to the counter, Louis is nearly finished with the pineapple cake, and when Harry notices he smiles again, big and bright. _Definitely worth it,_ Louis thinks, grinning back at Harry.

“Bravo, Curly,” he says, nodding toward the family, who have settled into a booth nearby. The three young girls and their parents are all happily munching on their own treats, much quieter than they’d been when they’d first come in. Harry just shrugs, though, and leans up against the counter a bit to Louis’ left.

“It’s not too big of a deal when you’ve been doing it for 4 years,” he shrugs. Louis’ eyes widen at that, and he sets his fork down in favor of studying Harry.

“You’ve worked in a bakery for 4 years?” he asks, and he doesn’t mean it to sound judgmental, but… he just can’t imagine wanting to work directly with the public for quite that long. Especially when the people Harry works with are apparently the type to gripe and moan and shout things in his face. Louis is sure he would have gotten well pissed in his first week and thrown a hot drink at somebody, so… it’s a bit mind-boggling to him.

Harry looks a bit sheepish as he nods his head, but there’s still a small smile on his face. “Since I was 17, yeah,” he acknowledges, and Louis shakes his head a bit, smiling back at the boy. “I know it’s probably not the best job in the world, but it pays well and I like what I do. And besides, if I left Margo would have to find someone else to do the baking, and she definitely wouldn’t be happy about that.”

Harry has been rambling for a moment by the time Louis holds up a hand to silence him. And he looks a little flustered, still, so Louis offers him a charming smile. “Relax, love,” he begins, and Harry blinks. “You don’t need to justify it. I don’t think it’s a bad thing. If anything, I admire you for it.”

The bashful boy seems to relax a bit at that, smiling a bit more genuinely as he nods his head. “Thanks, Lou,” he says simply, and Louis’ heart rabbits a bit at the nickname. He nods as well, and then winks at Harry, because it’s become habit at this point, apparently.

“Besides, it’s a pretty good thing that your boss thinks you’re so irreplaceable,” he offers. “Mine would probably throw me out on my arse the first chance he got.” It’s not a lie by any means – he and Nick are on good terms, yeah – they could probably even be considered friends, sometimes. The lad definitely thinks Louis is a little shit, though, and to be fair, he isn’t wrong.

Harry laughs at that, and then proceeds to tell him all about how Margo had told him in his first year at the bakery that she was sure her little shop would have to close its doors if he ever decided to go elsewhere. That, of course, prompts Louis to tell Harry about his job at the local record shop, and the variety of things he finds to do every day just for the sake of irritating his coworkers. Harry laughs the whole time, of course, even though Louis doesn’t think anything he says is quite funny enough to warrant it. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so smitten. 

From then on, they spend as much time as they can talking. They talk about everything and nothing (in between customers, of course, because as much as Louis likes Harry he doesn’t want him to get fired). Louis tells Harry about his Irish flat mate and about Zayn, and Harry tells him all about his somewhat obnoxious teddy bear of a roommate (who’s called Liam, apparently). They talk about their respective tastes in music, thanks to the mention of Louis working in a record shop, and when Harry tells Louis about his love of vinyl and old music, he thinks it’s very fitting.

By the time Louis even thinks to look at his phone, it’s been hours. Harry has gone off for a moment, having needed to clean up the mess that he had been in the process of making when Louis had arrived; apparently it had involved some forgotten cookies, because when Louis had mentioned the mess of powder that still decorated his friend’s red apron in the midst of one of their conversations, he’d looked up with a start.

“Oh no, the cookies!” he’d exclaimed, as though he’d left them in the oven to burn rather than on the counter without their coating of sugar. He’d immediately scampered off to tend to the aforementioned cookies, and the whole thing had been so sudden that Louis hadn’t been able to help the way he’d doubled over laughing.

It had given him a moment to turn and glance out the window, though, and upon doing so he’d realized that the sun was beginning to set. And that had shocked him a bit, definitely, because he’d walked into the bakery a few minutes past 3:00. Had he really been sitting here, doing nothing but talking and flirting with Harry for upwards of _4 hours_ now? A quick glance at his phone confirms it – it’s nearly 7 o’ clock, now, and…. shit. As much as he wants to continue sitting here, poking fun at Harry just to see the boy blush, he should probably get going.

He brushes a hand through his hair as he stands, sighing as he looks toward Harry. It looks as though he’s gotten the mess of cookies cleaned up, but at some point another customer had come in, and the lad is helping her, now. He’s smiling as he takes her order and hands over her receipt, and Louis smiles, too, as he watches Harry move about, quick in the way that he pours a bit of non-fat milk into a pitcher and gets it steaming before turning to pump the appropriate amount of caramel flavoring into a cup while he waits for the milk to finish frothing.

He waits until Harry has finished making the latte and the girl is on her way out to pick his plate up off the counter and clear his throat to get the boy’s attention. Harry blinks, turning his head to look at Louis with a sweet smile and apologetic glint in his eyes. He’s back at the counter in a few seconds’ time, shaking his head and brushing his hands off on his still-powdery apron.

“Sorry, Lou,” he says, and Louis returns his smile.

“Don’t apologize, Curly. I just wanted to let you know that it’s probably about time I get on out of here,” he supplies. He feels a bit happier than he should, probably, when Harry looks just as disappointed at the mention of his departure as he had that first night. “I didn’t want to run out on you without saying goodbye, first.”

He extends his plate out towards Harry as he says the words, and Harry takes it from him with a soft smile, nodding his head. He doesn’t say anything, at first – just spends a moment studying the plate, which still holds the last couple of bites of Louis’ pineapple cake (because, despite his best efforts, he just hadn’t been able to finish it). A moment later, though, a smile lights up his face and he meets Louis’ eyes again, signaling for the lad to wait a moment.

“Just a second,” he says, and flits away. Louis blinks at that, unable to help but wonder what, exactly, Harry’s latest epiphany is about. He gets his answer not much later, though, as the baker comes back with another plastic container for him. It houses the remainder of his cake, this time, and lord help him, there’s another post-it stuck on the top of it.

He reads the note immediately, this time, and laughs just as hard as he had at the first – maybe just a little bit harder, because this one is so, _so_ bad.

_“If you were a fruit, you’d be a_ fine _apple, sunshine.”_

“Thanks, babe,” he says, still snickering as he meets Harry’s eyes and notices the toothy grin the boy is sporting.

“You’ll come visit again soon, yeah?” he prompts, and Louis nods without hesitation.

“Of course,” he says, taking another minor leap and reaching out to give a playful tug to one of the curls that’s escaped Harry’s bun. He really, really wants to run his fingers through those curls properly, but it’ll have to do for now. “Soon as I get the chance, yeah?”

Harry’s cheeks are warm, now, as he acknowledges Louis with another nod. His smile has softened into this sweet, fond little thing as he waves Louis off, averting his eyes as he does so. “Get out of here then,” he says, and Louis nods, taking a few steps backward and waving goodbye to Harry with his free hand.

“I’ll see you soon,” he reassures the lad, making sure that there’s a smile on Harry’s face before he turns away.

He leaves the bakery with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. And though the pineapple cake gets thrown out as soon as he gets home, the accompanying note is filed away with care, safe and sound in his bedside drawer.

\--

 

He doesn’t even bother waiting for an “acceptable” amount of time to pass before his next visit to the bakery. He visits the bakery again the very next morning, and the Thursday after that, and each time, Harry is there to greet him with a sweet smile and an even-sweeter baked good. And, by extension, he leaves each night with another awful (wonderful) post-it note to add to his collection.

Wednesday: A slice of peanut-butter pie ( _“You must be peanut butter, because you’re making my legs feel like jelly.”)_

Thursday:  A small, round bit of something called honeydew mousse cake _(_ “ _Honeydew you know how beautiful you are?”)_

He doesn’t expect anything different to come of Friday. It’s half-past eleven in the morning, and Louis is stepping up to the counter as usual, a bit of cash in his hand and a cheerful smile on his face.

He’s met with a bit of disappointment, though, when a lad who is definitely not Harry comes from the back room to greet him. He’s a bit shorter, with ginger hair and glasses, and though his smile is friendly, it’s nothing compared to Harry’s dimpled grin. His disappointment must show on his face, because the lad raises an eyebrow at him.

“You alright, mate?” he asks, and Louis blinks. He feels quite silly, then – he truly hadn’t meant to give this new bloke the stink-eye or anything like that, it was just. He’d really been looking forward to seeing Harry today. He’d been looking forward to seeing Harry every day for the past week, if he’s honest.

“Sorry, yeah,” he says, and offers the ginger-haired kid a smile. “I was meant to meet someone here, but I reckon it must be his day off.”

Louis expects Harry’s coworker to confirm his assumption, or even to look at him oddly, but that’s not quite what he gets. Instead the lad’s eyes light up and he laughs, relatively loudly. Louis is immediately put off by the boisterous response, and he’s about to tell this ginger-haired tosser to fuck off, but that’s before said tosser turns to one side and calls out to someone else.

“Oi, Harry,” he shouts, and Louis blinks. “Maybe you’re not delusional after all, mate. Looks like your boy’s here.”

For a split second, Louis is confused as can be – he hadn’t thought Harry was in today. It made enough sense, after all – it wasn’t as though the curly lad worked at the bakery _every_ day. But then he _is_ there, bounding up to the counter to meet Louis, and he looks as flustered as ever, cheeks pink and eyes wide as he combs a hand through his long hair.

“Hey Lou! Good morning,” he greets, and Louis raises an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face as he takes in the sight of Harry. He’s not wearing his apron today – he’s not wearing any of his usual bakery-approved attire, in fact, and his hair is down, falling in loose ringlets around his face.

“What’re you doing here, Haz?” he asks, reaching out to give the boy a good-natured shove. “It’s your day off, innit?”

Harry smiles at him, then, and it looks as though he’s about to explain, but before he gets the chance, Harry’s ginger friend cuts him off, a sly grin on his face. “He came in early this morning. Insisted he had to be here in case the cute, blue-eyed lad came back,” he supplies, and Louis’ eyes widen a bit. If he had worried at all about coming off as eager before, it dwindles away now, because Harry had come in on his bloody day off. Just in case Louis happened to show up.

Before he has the chance to respond a plastic spoon being flung in the direction of baker #2, as Louis has dubbed him, and Harry is pouting and shuffling his feet as he meets Louis’ eyes. “You’ve been in almost every day this week. I didn’t want you to feel stood up,” he reasons, and Louis’ heart melts. His dumbfounded expression melts into something distinctly fond, just as it had Tuesday night, he reaches to give one of Harry’s curls a tug as he responds.

“That’s very sweet of you, babe,” he says, and winks when Harry smiles up at him. “You’re a proper gentleman, aren’t you?”

Harry blushes under the attention, looking as bashful as ever as he takes a half a step closer to Louis. “Mhm. I mean, I try to be, anyways,” he says, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to look nonchalant. Louis has to smile at that, despite the sudden swell of nervousness that coils in his gut. Without the counter acting as a barrier between them the whole encounter suddenly feels much more personal. He’s about to respond (and honestly, he’s considering taking the plunge and running his fingers through those dark curls) but baker #2 beats him to it.

“That’s a lie, mate. He’s a complete prat,” the bloke teases, and the look of annoyance that crosses Harry’s face makes Louis snort.

“I should have warned you about Ed,” he starts, a bit of mischief in the smile that he flashes Louis. “He’s a compulsive liar – not to be trusted. Don’t listen to a single thing he says.”

With that, the spoon that Harry had previously flung at the other lad (Ed, apparently) comes sailing back toward them, plunking against Harry’s chest before clattering to the floor. Louis snickers at that, turning to flash a smile in Ed’s direction as he speaks up.

“I don’t know, Hazza,” he starts, raising an eyebrow as he turns back toward his lanky companion. “He seems like a pretty respectable lad to me.” The look on Harry’s face then is one of complete and utter betrayal, and it’s enough to crack Louis up on the spot.

“Oi, not just a pretty face, this one,” Ed acknowledges, and at that, Harry huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s clear that he’s used to the way Ed takes the piss out of him, and frankly, the way that he pouts when Louis joins in on the banter is much more adorable than it should be.

“That’ll teach me to buy you lunch, I suppose,” he says, and it’s Louis’ turn to make a face.

“Haz, I told you I wasn’t going to accept any more freebies,” he argues, reaching into his pocket and holding out the cash he’d brought with him for emphasis. Harry just grins, though, eyes sparkling as he shakes his head at Louis and takes the notes from him, only to fold them up neatly and place them right back in his coat pocket.

“S’not a freebie if I’ve already paid for it,” he counters, and Louis grumbles at him. The soft, defiant noise only makes Harry’s smile grow, though, as he turns toward Ed and waves a hand at the lad.

“Get on it, then, Teddy,” he prompts, as cheerful as ever, and Ed flips him the bird before going about making the sandwiches that he and Harry had agreed upon, earlier this morning. Louis watches for a moment, as Ed collects all of the ingredients he needs – he’s a bit curious what Harry has ordered for him. After all, he still hasn’t had the heart to tell the lad that he hadn’t enjoyed Tuesday’s pineapple cake, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stomach a whole plate of food that he doesn’t quite like. He prides himself on his acting skills, definitely, but he’s not quite that dedicated. Thankfully, though, Ed seems to be putting together a couple of turkey and cheese subs, and that, Louis can handle.

“I’m starting to wonder if your friend isn’t right about you, babe,” Louis says, prompting a snort from Harry. “You might not be a complete prat, but you are a sneaky little minx.”

Rather than responding to Louis’ accusation Harry sticks his tongue out at the shorter lad. And, being the five-year-old that he is most days, Louis mirrors the action. He hears Ed laugh from behind the counter, then, and the next thing he knows there are two sandwiches being set out in front of them, along with two glasses of pop. Before Louis can say another word, Harry has both of their plates balanced on one arm and the cups secure in his opposite hand, and he’s gesturing for Louis to follow  him as he heads toward one of the tables at the far end of the bakery.

Louis grins as he trails Harry, shaking his head a bit as he watches the lad. It’s clear that he’s been serving tables awhile – because honestly, no normal human being should be able to balance so many plates and cups so effortlessly. Louis knows this, of course, but it doesn’t stop his gaze from zeroing in on the hand that holds their drinks, because fuck – all previous serving experience aside, Harry’s hands are _massive_. He finds himself feeling just a tad flustered at that, because the thought of those hands settling at the dip of his waist and pulling him close is just – it’s – _shit_.

Before he knows it, Harry has both the plates and the cups set out neatly at their table, and he’s standing behind one of the chairs, smiling at Louis. He’s pulled the aforementioned chair out, and Louis stands, dumbfounded for a solid 10 seconds or so before he realizes that Harry has pulled the chair out for _him_. He blinks, then, mentally cursing as he moves to sit and nearly trips over his own feet as he does so.

“Thanks, Hazza,” he says, most definitely feeling a bit silly. Harry just smiles though, nodding his head as he moves to sit across from Louis.

Suddenly, Louis finds himself feeling like they’re right back at that first day, again – back to Harry flirting with him, suave as ever, and Louis tongue-tied and fumbling his words as he tries to reciprocate. It doesn’t make much sense, he knows, but the fact that Harry isn’t just the cute baker behind the counter anymore sort of catches him by surprise. _Now_ Harry is an incredibly attractive lad who’s very obviously interested in him. He’d bought Louis lunch, for God’s sake, before he’d even known that he was coming in today. And though Louis’ attraction to Harry certainly says enough for his interest in their little arrangement… it was all getting a bit more _real_ now, wasn’t it?

He’s working silently on putting the matter aside and carrying on as Harry gets settled, but just like earlier, his thoughts must show on his face, because the next thing he knows, the taller boy’s smile has vanished. He’s peering at Louis from under his eyelashes, now, looking rather bashful as he takes a sip of his pop. “It’s not too weird, is it?” he says suddenly, and Louis blinks. “Me coming in like this, I mean. Because, like... I really don’t want you to think I’m a stalker or summat.”

It’s at that point that Louis nerves settle a bit – Harry had been all banter and silly smiles and flirty quips just moments ago, but he looks just as nervous as Louis feels, now. It’s quite reassuring, and that reassurance draws a genuine bit of laughter out of him. He smiles at Harry, then, in a way he hopes will settle the boy’s nerves as he picks up his sandwich and takes a small bite.

“Not at all, babe,” he says, feeling warm as he sees Harry soften. He swallows before going on. “I came back to see you, yeah? I’ve been here every day for the past week. If anything, you should be worried that _I’m_ stalking _you_.”

  Harry laughs at that, eyes finding the tabletop for a moment before he picks up his own sandwich. “I don’t think I mind too much, if you are,” he murmurs, voice soft, and Louis can’t help but smile, big and bright.

“Well in that case I am most definitely stalking you. In fact, I already know where you live, what size shoe you wear, and what your cat’s name is,” he claims, laughing happily at the way that Harry’s eyes widen a bit.

“Either you are actually stalking me or you’re just a very good guesser,” he says, sitting back in his chair and nodding to Louis. “What’s his name, then? My cat.”

Louis, of course, does not actually know the name of the cat, but Harry is gazing at him expectantly, so he grins, barely hesitating as he gives the most generic cat’s name he can think of. “Snowball, obviously,” he tries, averting his eyes and taking a quick bite of his sandwich. Harry’s answering snicker is enough to let him know that his answer is likely miles off, so he simply smiles at the lad and shrugs his shoulders.

“Right. Well, it’s still pretty impressive that you guessed I had a cat,” Harry admits, and Louis shrugs again.

“What can I say? You work in a bakery and spend your days giving free teas and pastries to wet, miserable lads,” he points out. “You strike me as the type to go home after work and snuggle up with a blanket and a little white ball of fur.”

Harry is blushing again, then – really, it’s amazing how easy it is for Louis to fluster him – and he flicks a bit of the bread from his sandwich in Louis’ general direction in retaliation. “Oi, I already told you… the teas and pastries are reserved for very specific lads. Just one in particular,” he says, and picks up his drink again. “And Dusty is black _and_ white.”

Louis means to respond to Harry’s comment about his cat, he does, but finds himself a tad distracted, again, as he watches the boy sip at his drink; he finds the straw with his tongue before actually taking a drink, and his green eyes are bright and happy as he peers at Louis over the cup, and fuck. Louis really can’t believe how endearing the boy is.  He also can’t believe that he’d seriously considered pelting Harry with an egg the first night they’d met.

_Bloody idiot, I am,_ he thinks. “D’you wanna come to the park with me when we’re finished eating?” he asks. Harry’s smile gets even brighter at that.

“I’d love to, Lou,” he confirms with a nod, taking a moment to brush his hands off on his trousers. Louis beams as well, then, taking a few hurried bites out of the last half of his sandwich. _Attractive,_ a voice at the back of his head nags, but he ignores it – he’s eager, he knows, but can he really be blamed?

He’s just about finished with his food, and he’s about to make a cheeky comment to Harry about taking a romantic stroll in the park, but before he can do so the lad is sliding a folded-up napkin across the table. He’s smiling at the tabletop, again, when Louis looks up at him, and his dishes are already set aside.

Louis is fairly certain he knows exactly what the napkin is, and he smiles a cheeky smile as he takes it and tucks it into his coat pocket. He’ll save it for later, he thinks; later, when he’s home and he’s started to miss Harry again. The notes have sort of been an unspoken thing between them anyhow, and in all honesty, he sort of loves it that way.

“Ready to go, babe?” he asks, and Harry meets his eyes again, looking incredibly soft and incredibly eager as he nods his head once more.

They both stand from the table, then, Louis helping Harry to clear the table. They gather their dishes up and return them to Ed, who kindly tells them to take their flirting elsewhere. They both grin and flip him the bird, this time, and with that they’re out the door.

It’s rather nice out today, as luck would have it, and as they follow the sidewalk toward the local park, Louis tucks his hands into his coat pockets.

“I’m a bit offended on your behalf, you know,” he says, and smirks at the confused expression that crosses Harry’s face.

“What d’you mean?” the taller boy asks, squinting in Louis direction. Louis simply flashes him a smile, though, allowing himself to be lost in his date’s green, green eyes for a moment before he answers.

“You spend so much time in the bakery, making your sweets,” he begins, averting his gaze and spending a moment watching a lad across the street, jogging along with his dog. “And suddenly _this_ mess of a lad comes along and swindles you into giving them all away for free.”

Louis doesn’t even have to look at the boy when he snorts to know that he’s shaking his head, dimples on display. It’s only been a week, but he’s got those pretty dimples memorized.

“Okay, one… you’re hardly a mess,” he says, sidestepping a bit to give Louis a friendly nudge. Louis grins too, then, and meets Harry’s eyes again. “Two, Ed made those sandwiches. And three… they’re my sweets to give away. So quiet down and enjoy them, babe.”

Harry counts his points off on his fingers as he says them, as he tends to do, and Louis is trying to pay attention, he is; to be fair, though, it’s a bit hard for him to concentrate on coming up with an argument when Harry has distracted him with those _hands_ again. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. His cheeks are warm as they approach the local park’s entrance, and Harry must notice, because he chooses that moment to reach out and give Lou’s cheek a gentle poke. Louis blinks at that, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at Harry.

“Are you trying to give me dimples to match yours, then?” he teases, and in retaliation reaches to poke the dimple in Harry’s right cheek. Harry makes a soft, defiant sound in response and reaches to tickle Louis’ side which, admittedly, doesn’t have much effect.

“No, I was just appreciating the fact that _I_ made _you_ blush for once,” he counters, and Louis scoffs.

“Did not,” he mutters, studying his feet as that rosy color makes a brief reappearance – though it’s mostly due to the fact that Harry doesn’t know the _actual_ reason that he had been blushing.

“Did toooo,” Harry sings, and Louis would likely swear on his life that the both of them are actually 6-year-olds trapped in 20-something-year-old bodies. Louis can’t help but grin, though, a swell of butterflies growing in his tummy as he looks up. His timing is impeccable, apparently, because it’s just then that he sees a girl on a bike, headed straight for them and most definitely paying more attention to the text message that she’s attempting to send than the path in front of her.

“Watch out, Curly!” he exclaims, grabbing ahold of Harry’s hand and dragging him out of the path of the bicyclist with seconds to spare. Harry looks a bit startled at first, clearly not having seen the oncoming threat. It wears off seconds later, though, as he turns to look at Louis, and then down at their clasped hands. He smiles, then, moving to lace their fingers together rather than pulling his hand away.

“You saved my life, just then,” he murmurs, and Louis snorts, thumb brushing along Harry’s knuckles as they walk. They’re just passing by a bright yellow bunch of daffodils, and Louis ducks to pick one out of the bunch. He’s wearing a suave smile as he offers it to Harry.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, giving the boy’s hand a squeeze. Harry looks like a child on Christmas morning as he accepts the flower, a twinkle in his eyes as he looks between Louis and the daffodil.

“Good God, Lou,” he laughs, shaking his head. The movement causes his curls to bounce just a bit, and Louis thinks he must have a glimmer of fondness in his eyes to rival the one glowing in Harry’s. It’s not his fault that he happens to love the way that Harry says his name – _really_ , it’s not. “And you say you’re a mess.”

“I am a mess. A _terrible_ mess, in fact,” he argues, swinging their hands a bit as they walk. “If you don’t believe me, ask the butterflies wreaking havoc on my stomach right now.”

It’s corny, he knows, but the smile it prompts from Harry is strangely reminiscent of the sun, and, well. Louis is more than content with that.

They spend a little while walking about, talking about anything and everything just the way they tend to do when Louis visits the bakery. And it’s silly, he knows, but Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy to be in someone’s presence (never mind the fact that this is probably the most walking he’s done in ages). They’re hand in hand the majority of their walk, and somewhere along the way, they take to pointing out fellow park-goers and narrating short, silly stories for each different person they come across. It’s inspired by a comment Louis had made about the girl on the bike and how he hoped whoever she was talking to had been important, as she’d almost made them road kill. Harry had taken his words and run with them.

_“Maybe she was late for dinner. On her way home from her boyfriend’s house, and texting her mum to try and tell her that she’d been caught in the middle of a flash mob. Y’know, so she didn’t get into trouble.”_

A couple of girls jogging, weights in their hands: “ _They’re training for the Olympics, obviously. Did you see her face? She’s_ serious. _”_

A little old lady, sitting on a bunch feeding the birds: _“She’s hoping that if she ever needs a favor all those birds she feeds every day will be ‘round in a snap.” ...” What? Birds are_ smart, _Lou! Haven’t you ever heard of carrier pigeons?”_

By the time they decide to take a break from walking and find a seat upon one of the benches near the lake, it’s nearing 2 o’ clock, and Louis doesn’t see himself wanting to part from Harry’s company anytime soon.

“It’s a nice day, innit?” he says, a bit absentminded as he looks out over the lake. There are ducks bobbing along the surface of the water, and several children chasing after the ones waddling along the grassy shore.

“It is,” Harry agrees, a sweet smile on his face as he turns to gaze at Louis. He eyes the boy quietly as he looks out over the water, simply studying his profile and admiring the way that the sun casts such delicate shadows over his face. Louis smirks, his heart warming in his chest as he feels Harry’s gaze on him. It’s not much later that he gives up on keeping his air of nonchalance and turns to meet the taller lad’s gaze. His smile grows as Harry blinks in response to their sudden closeness in proximity – those lovely eyes wander noticeably between Louis’ lips and eyes for a couple of seconds, and suddenly Louis’s heart is beating just a little bit harder in his chest. There’s a moment of silence, a moment of anticipation as they study one another, and Louis is sure for a few seconds that Harry is about to kiss him. He’s even begun to prepare himself, and then –

“You’ve got lovely eyelashes,” the baker says.

A strange look crosses Louis face for a moment, but the moment the comment registers, it startles a laugh out of him. He spends a couple of seconds snickering, both at the oddity of Harry’s comment and the way the boy is blushing, now. When he has his composure he smiles at Harry, shaking his head a bit as he reaches to take the lad’s hand.

“Thanks, love,” he says, giving his blushing date’s hand a squeeze. “I quite like your curls.”

Harry whines in response to the compliment, and honestly, Louis can’t help but start giggling again. “I’m sorry, that was weird. They’re just like – so long? And soft. They look soft,” Harry starts, but cuts himself off with a groan when he realizes that all his stammered explanation has done is make Louis giggle even more.

It takes a moment, he’ll admit, but eventually Louis manages to stifle his laughter. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he reaches out and pokes Harry’s cheek, and continues to do so until the pouting lad is smiling again. “Your curls and my eyelashes have something in common, then,” he states with a wink, and a Harry snorts, averting his gaze and studying their hands for a moment. Louis just continues to gaze at Harry, though, a soft sigh escaping him as he does so. On a whim, he takes the daffodil he’d picked earlier from the curly boy’s shirt pocket (where he’d placed it for safe-keeping) and instead tucks it carefully behind Harry’s ear. He’s gentle as he hides the stem beneath a few soft curls, and there’s a proud smile on his face as he finishes up, brushing his fingers through his boy’s hair a time or two (to make sure the daffodil will stay in place, obviously).

“Suits you,” he says, soft, and grins when Harry meets his eyes with a surprised blink. He studies Louis for a moment, looking very much like he’s turning something over and over in his head, and Louis has to wonder what, exactly, the lad is thinking. A moment later, though, he shakes his head, and there’s a smitten smile on his face as he leans in and presses his lips to Louis’ cheek. And really – Louis thinks that says enough.

“If you really think your compliment was so weird, I know how you can make it up to me,” he says, waiting until Harry has acknowledged him with a soft ‘ _hmm_?’ to elaborate. “Ice cream. We passed by a cart not too long ago, yeah?”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, now, and he does – full and loud and bright. He nods his head, though, and brings Louis’ hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to his knuckles before he lets it go and stands. “Any flavor preference, then?” he asks, and grins when Louis tells him that he’d like a mint chocolate-chip cone, double-scoop. The lad starts to walk back toward the cart, then, but before he can get too far Louis stands from the bench catches his hand.

“Oi, you bought lunch. Don’t even think about buying dessert,” he says, and stands so that he can take the bank notes from his coat packet and place them firmly into Harry’s hand. Harry grumbles and narrows his eyes, so Louis kisses him on the cheek and gives him a nudge. “Go on, quiet down and enjoy the sweets, babe,” he says. Harry rolls his eyes but smiles anyway, and with a huff he’s off, walking toward the ice cream cart about a quarter mile back.

Meanwhile, Louis snorts and moves to sit back down on the bench. He fully intends to kick back and enjoy the sun for a moment, because it really _is_ an unusually sunny day for early April. Before he can do so, however, he catches sight of a folded-up napkin, laying on the ground a foot or two away. It’s definitely the napkin that Harry had slipped him earlier; he thinks it must have fallen from his pocket when he’d taken the money out of his coat pocket. He takes a moment to thank the light breeze for causing it to flutter and catch his eye, because the last thing he’d have wanted was to lose one of Harry’s quirky notes.

With a smile, he stoops over and snatches up the napkin, and for a moment he fiddles with its corners. He _had_ been planning to wait until he got him to read the punch-line of this particular note, but… Harry’s gone for a moment, and honestly, he’s going to miss the pretty boy tonight whether he waits to read the note or not.

_“_ Fuck it,” he says under his breath, and grins as he gingerly unfolds the napkin. The handwriting on this napkin is a bit messier, as napkins obviously don’t make the best stationary, but the words Harry has written down make Louis smile and laugh out loud just the same.

_“Are you Coco-Cola? Because you are soda-licious!”_

He reads the pick-up line over a few times, relishing in the way that it makes his heart flutter and his cheeks ache from smiling. He takes a quick moment to pull his mobile out and snap a photo of the note as well; he sends the photo to Niall with a sunglasses emoji attached, and laughs out loud when his mate replies with a string of heart emojis.

He’s about to respond, but then Harry is back with their ice cream, sitting down beside him with a megawatt smile. He waits until Louis has finished scrambling to get both the napkin and his mobile back into his pocket to hand the lad his ice cream cone. It’s obvious that he’s seen what Louis was up to, but he doesn’t say anything – just takes a chaste lick of his cake-batter ice cream cone and makes a comment offhand about the using Louis’ change to tip the ice cream man, as Louis had _insisted._

Louis just grins, though, and swipes a bit of his own ice cream onto one fingertip. He smears the bit of sweetness across Harry’s cheek, snickering as Harry squeals, and that’s that.

-

                It’s about a week and a half later that Louis decides he needs to start retaliating. He and Harry have been spending time together consistently since what he had been calling their first “official” date, and each and every time he’s seen the bright-eyed boy there’s been a pick-up line waiting for him. Sometimes _two_ pick-up lines, if Harry’s really feeling on top of his game.

                _“I must be made of ice cream, because your smile is making my heart melt”,_ as well as _“I don’t know if you believe in fate, but I think we were mint to be”_ had both come toward at the end of their ice-cream in the park date.

                _“You drive me bananas,”_ had been written on the back of the receipt for his tea when Louis had visited Harry at the bakery, as usual; that one hadn’t quite made sense, at first. Not until the lad had given him a loaf (not a piece, an entire _loaf_ ) of banana bread to take home at the end of the night.

                _“You are so cherry sweet, it makes my heart blossom,”_ after they had spent another day in the park, Harry straddling Louis’ thighs and decorating his hair with cherry blossom flowers from the tree they had been cuddled up beneath.

                And _“You’ve got plenty of raisins, how do you feel about a date?”,_ the day Louis had visited the bakery on his way in to work. He’d only had time to purchase an oatmeal raisin cookie and give Harry a quick kiss on the cheek before he’d had to leave for his shift, lest Nick throw him out on his arse as he’d joked about with Harry one of the first times they had spent time together. They’d gone on a “formal” dinner date the following night, though – a reservations at a nice restaurant, _“pick you up at 8”_ sort of date. Harry had even brought Louis _roses_ that night, for god’s sake. He’s got to up his game.

                However, upping his game is evidently a whole lot less exciting than it sounds, because now it’s the middle of the afternoon and he’s been sitting at the kitchen table for _two hours_ trying to come up with a decent pun to give to Harry. He doesn’t know how the baker does it, honestly; it’s been two bloody hours and he hasn’t been able to come up with even one good pick-up line, but somehow Harry manages to come up with multiple cheeky one-liners on the spot. And Harry’s are bad, sure, but they’re _good_ bad. They’re _make Louis blush and giggle into the back of his hand_ bad. Louis’s, on the other hand… Louis’s are just plain bad.

                _“I love the way you move… like butter on a bald monkey.”_ What the fuck.

                “ _You look like a cake that I’m dying to get a piece of, before my flat mate eats you all up. My flat mate is a cannibal and that’s not a joke.”_ Honestly, what the _fuck_.

                He groans, taking his latest heart-shaped sticky note (yes, heart-shaped, because apparently he’s gone off the deep end) and crumpling it up before tossing it to the floor. There’s a pile of the little pink papers beside his chair, now, and it’s all beginning to look a bit hopeless. He’d told Harry he would come in and visit today, but he’d _really_ wanted to have a quirky note of his own to give to his lovely beau. As it is, though, he’s already hours past the usual time he pops into the bakery. Harry must be thinking he’s not going to show at this point, and they can’t have that.

                “Jesus, mate. You still at it?” a cheerful voice asks from the hallway, and Louis looks up to see Niall at the edge of the room. The lad is leaning against the wall, munching on a slice of the banana bread that Harry had given them, and Louis sighs at that; he can’t escape his lovely, curly boy, it seems. Not that he minds, but.

                “I don’t know how he does it, Neil. I referred to you as a bloody cannibal in that last one,” Louis vents, and Niall cackles. Louis just buries his face in his hands, though, resisting the urge to fling his pen straight at his blonde friend’s head. It’s not his fault Louis is terrible at writing pick-up lines, after all.

                “Well, his one-liners usually have a theme, don’t they?” Niall suggests. He moves to sit across from Louis, crouching over in his chair to scoop up a handful of Louis’ failed attempts from the pile of crumpled stickies. He reads through a few of them (obviously stifling laughter as he does so), and shakes his head as he meets Louis’ eyes again a moment later. “Yours are all a bit… random.”

                Louis huffs, pondering that for a moment. Niall is right – the majority of Harry’s notes are based around a certain theme, and that theme is usually food. Perhaps coming up with a decent pun would be easier if he kept a theme in mind.

                “Right, so the theme should be food, then. Sweets, in particular,” Louis says. It’s a start, he supposes.

                “Sure,” Niall shrugs, popping the last of his banana bread into his mouth. He chews and swallows before going on. “You could use your favorite dessert. Or one of the ones he’s given ya,” he says. Louis shakes his head, though, resting his chin in his hand and balling up a blank sticky, which he then flicks in Niall’s direction like a tiny football.

                “That wouldn’t work. All of his have used the treats he’s given me as the punchline,” he sighs. He doesn’t think it would be the same, anyhow – it’s not like he has any sweet treats to give Harry, and goodness _knows_ he wouldn’t even know where to begin with baking something himself. He doesn’t have time for that, anyways. “Tell me what to do, Nialler.”

                Niall snorts at that, and really, Louis can’t blame him – he’s well-aware that he’s a bit pathetic. That much he knows.

                “Why’re you so worried about it, Tommo? He obviously likes you already,” Niall starts, fiddling with the sticky-note-football for a moment before flicking it back at Louis. “He seems like a sweet lad – sweeter than his baked goods, which is a fuckin’ feat. I don’t think he minds supplying the corny pick-up lines.”

                Louis means to respond, he does, but then it hits him. _Sweeter than his baked goods._

                “Neil, you absolute genius,” he mumbles, grinning as he picks up his pen again. He thinks for a moment before scribbling the words onto a fresh sticky note. His handwriting is shit, and he can’t control that, but he can control the wording, and it’s got to be perfect.

                “Er, thanks?” Niall says, obviously a bit perplexed. Louis just grins, though, and holds up his newly-written note for Niall to read. The Irish lad grins as well, then, throwing his head back and laughing whole heartedly. 

                “I’ve gotta go, mate. Harry’s shift is almost over and I don’t want to miss him,” Louis says as he stands from the table, slipping into the shoes he’d left by the door the previous night and hurriedly pocketing his keys and phone. He makes sure to thank Niall before he goes, though, grinning over his shoulder as he heads out the door. “Thanks for the help!”

                “Glad to be of assistance!” Niall hollers back, and with that, Louis is out the door.

He speed-walks all the way to the bakery – it’s not far, he knows, but he’s already late, and he’s only got 15 minutes before Harry’s shift is over, now. He just hopes his heart-shaped pun will be enough to earn him Harry’s forgiveness.

He makes it to the bakery with about 5 minutes to spare, and he thanks the heavens when he steps through the doors, and Harry is there, leaning up against the counter. His chin is rested in his hand and his lips are distinctly pouty, and for a moment Louis feels horrible for staying home and obsessing over something so silly. He’s quick to remind himself that Harry will absolutely _love_ the silly thing he’d been obsessing over, though – at least, Louis hopes that he will.

“Hi, love,” he says, and smiles when Harry startles, green eyes even wider than usual as he straightens up.

“Lou!” he exclaims. The pout that he had been sporting vanishes near instantly, replaced dimples with a relieved smile. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

With a shake of his head, Louis offers Harry an apologetic smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, babe. I’m really sorry I’m late,” he says, but Harry just smiles, rounding the counter in favor of enveloping Louis in his arms. Louis lets himself sink in to the embrace for a moment, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the taller boy’s shoulder.

“Hush, you. I’m just glad you’re here now,” Harry murmurs, and presses a kiss into Louis’ hair – as though his insides hadn’t felt gooey enough already. He laughs softly, giving Harry a gentle squeeze before pulling away, just far enough that he can look up at the lad.

“I do have something to show for it, though,” he says, a twinkle in his eyes. A bit of excitement bubbles inside of him as Harry blinks, clearly confused. “Close your eyes and open your hands.”

“What?” Harry asks, squinting at Louis for a moment. The suspicious expression on his face makes Louis snicker; he supposes it's fair. Harry is usually the one with the surprises, after all.

“I said: Close your eyes and open your hands, Curly,” he repeats, and laughs quietly as Harry merely grumbles at him before doing as he'd been instructed. Louis makes sure to take an extra moment to retrieve the post-it from his wallet just for the sake of teasing Harry, who begins to fidget seconds after he's closed his eyes. He can't help but grin as he places the sticky face up in Harry’s palms, fingertips grazing Harry’s palms as he pulls his hands back. “Alright… you can open your eyes now. But first, you've got to promise you won't laugh at me. You aren’t allowed to laugh.”

Harry’s eyes pop open immediately, and he squints at Louis for another second before his eyes fall to the note in his hands. “Louis, why would I—“ he begins, but pauses the moment his eyes fall upon the note. Louis watches as his beau really focuses on the words – the simple one-liner he'd taken so much care in writing.

_“Hold the sugar - you're sweet enough.”_

It’s incredibly simple, Louis thinks; it's not nearly as witty as any of Harry’s notes, but still, the baker’s eyes light up as he reads it, and he smiles wide enough that crinkles appear by his eyes, and _god_ \-- Louis thinks he might even see a shine of tears in Harry’s eyes.

“One second,” he says, and turns suddenly, disappearing behind the counter and into the back room for a moment. It's Louis’ turn to be perplexed, then – he glances at Ed, who only grins and shakes his head. He doesn't have to wonder very much longer, though, because seconds later Harry is back, carrying his very own sticky and wearing a familiar goofy smile.

“I should've known,” Louis starts, but quiets down when Harry shakes his head and simply holds the post-it out for Louis to read.

And honestly, Louis would like to think that he's gotten accustomed to Harry’s quirky little puns – that _maybe_ they don't quite make him feel like as much of a lovesick fool, now. But all things considered, he's got to admit that this pickup line is the best one yet.

_“Chocolate factories make millions of kisses every day, but I'm only asking for one.”_

A tiny sound escapes Louis as he finishes reading the note, and then reads it again, just for good measure – because that's a _cue_ , right? The way his heart is pounding in his chest definitely indicates that it's a cue, and he’s only further convinced when he looks up to find Harry gazing at him – at his _lips_ – all soft and flushed and lovely.

That's all he needs, really – he doesn't hold back as he takes a step forward, looping his arms around the taller lad’s neck and planting a firm kiss to those soft, pink lips. He feels Harry’s arms encircle his waist as the both of them really melt into the kiss, and… this is _it,_ he thinks. This is the embodiment of all of those corny pickup lines, of melting ice cream and sweet pineapple cake and crisp honeydew. Harry's lips are certainly reminiscent of soft, sweet cherry blossoms, and the feeling he gets as they kiss, a tangle of arms and a press of lips and a fluttering of hands in hair, is certainly a lot like hot tea on a cold, rainy day.

It's a moment or two before they part, and when they do, the both of them are a bit out of breath – they've still got their foreheads rested together, and Louis has busied himself brushing his fingers through Harry’s curls while Harry takes his time, brushing a thumb across Louis cheekbone.

It's Ed who finally breaks the silence.

“I should have the both of you arrested for public indecency, honestly,” he mutters, even though there isn't any _real_ heat behind it. Harry raises one hand to flip Ed the bird, as usual, but Louis just lets his head fall against Harry’s shoulder and rest there as he giggles. This, of course, makes Harry giggle too, and before he knows it he's being snuggled against Harry’s chest, full-on.

“I was saving that one, you know,” Harry says, soft enough that only Louis can hear. Louis grins at that, and turns his head inward in favor of nosing along Harry’s jaw.

“Of course you were,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes in a playful fashion as he pulls away from Harry just a bit. “You've got a whole arsenal of flirty little quips and it took me _all morning_ to come up with one.”

“I suppose we'd best frame this one, then,” Harry says, grinning as he retrieves Louis’ note from his back pocket and gazes at it fondly for a moment before turning a mischievous smile on Louis. “Since it may be the last of its kind.”

And really, Louis can't help but scoff at that, a look of betrayal on his face as he whaps Harry on the shoulder. “Oi, you keep that up and there will be no more _sugar_ for you, little one,” he threatens, puckering his lips for emphasis. Harry puts on a guise of faux-panic, then, jutting his lower lip out at Louis and shaking his head.

“Obviously I was joking. You're an artist, babe. A true poet,” the boy gushes, and Louis nods his head proudly.

“S’more like it,” he acknowledges, just before stretching up on his toes to press a kiss to Harry’s pouty lips. The baker dissolves into a fit of giggles, then, and he smiles against Louis lips as they kiss, and honestly… Louis doesn't think he'll ever need to eat another sweet again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel that didn't really need to be written but that I also really wanted to write. You're welcome, it's another 1.6k words of fluff and puns!

Harry and Louis have been together 4 years, going on 5, when Louis starts finding stickies strategically placed around their flat. It’s been quite a while - a good year or two - since Harry has given him a neatly written pick-up line in the form of a bad pun, so Louis certainly finds it a bit odd when he starts coming across his boyfriend’s little notes rather consistently one week. 

He finds the first note on his way out the door for work, as he’s picking up the breakfast snack that Harry’s left for him (like he does every day). _“I’m bananas about you. Let’s never split,”_ the note says, and at first, Louis is taken aback. A moment later, though, he snorts, carefully removes the note from his banana, and tucks it into his coat pocket. He’ll have to add it to the collection, he thinks; he still has each and every note Harry has written for him throughout the years, of course he does, because they’re a very big part of the reason he’d gotten together with his curly boyfriend in the first place. 

Things continue that way for a couple of days, and for the most part, Louis doesn’t think much of it - he loves Harry’s quirky notes just the same as he’d loved them four years ago, and it brings a happy nostalgia every time he finds one of them stuck some odd place in their flat. 

With breakfast the next morning: _“You’re my butter half.”_

The next day, when Louis picks up a latte from Harry on his way to work: _“Words cannot espresso how much I love you.”_

The following evening as they’re getting ready to tuck up for the night: _“I’ll be the ice-cream if you’ll be my big spoon.”_

Each and every one of the notes makes Louis smile a little bit brighter, and by the fifth day of the week, he’s looking forward to finding Harry’s next sticky. The lad always leaves them where he knows Louis will find them, so he’s not the least bit worried. He falls asleep with a smile on his face and his nose tucked into Harry’s curls Friday night, and he couldn’t be happier. 

He finds the next note stuck to the screen of the telly on Saturday morning, when he’s got the whole day to lounge about and surf Netflix while Harry is at work. And while he has to marvel at how well his boyfriend knows him, he’s got to admit he finds this one a bit odd. 

_“I know you’ve already got a name, but is it alright if I call you mine?”_

He doesn’t quite understand it, if he’s honest - he’s been unapologetically _Harry’s_ for the past 4 1/2 years. Is his curly beau having doubts? Is that what this is all about? He spends half the day worrying over it, and when Harry comes home from work he makes absolutely sure he wraps the boy in a tight, tight hug and presses kisses to every visible inch of his skin. He whispers the phrase _“always yours”_ into Harry’s skin until he’s sure it’s made itself at home in the silly dimple in his boy’s cheek, and in the creases in his palms, and in the small space at the corner of his jaw, where his hair has just begun to curl again after he’d cut it short a year or two ago. If he was able, he’d etch the phrase into Harry’s skin, right above his butterfly tattoo, but he’s no tattoo artist. He settles for outlining the ink with love bites instead. 

Nothing seems amiss later in the evening, when all is said and done and Harry has snuggled into Louis’s arms. He wraps himself around Louis just like he has every night since they moved in together, and he’s smiling as brightly as ever as Louis kisses his forehead and brushes his now-sweat-matted curls back from his face. The evening ends perfectly, and Louis thinks everything is probably alright, now.

The next note he finds seems to say as much, too - there isn’t anything worrisome about it, and when Louis finds it stuck next to his toothbrush the next morning, he doesn’t stop smiling for hours; not even when he gets into work, and Nick gives him shit for the _“absolutely lovesick glow”_ he’s sporting. 

_“I don’t need to be a detective to know that you’re a thief. You’ve stolen my heart. (Every day. For almost 5 years.)”_

Things are better than alright. They’re perfect, and he doesn’t think his life could get much better. 

That is, until he finds the next sticky. 

It’s roughly a week later, when he unlocks the door to their shared flat and kicks his shoes off at the door. It’s a weeknight — Tuesday night, in particular, so he knows that Harry will have beaten him home. His boyfriend works the early shift on Tuesday mornings, and more often than not, already has dinner made when Louis gets home from the record shop. So really, it’s more a force of habit than anything when Louis heads straight for the kitchen. 

He expects to find Harry either stood in front of the stove or already setting the table, but that’s not the case at all. The kitchen is both empty and dark, save for what appears to be the flames of five or six candles, left burning in an artful array at the center of their old kitchen table. He turns on the lights in the room with a hum, sparing a glance around the empty room and wondering errantly if Harry had had some errand to run after work. It doesn’t make sense, though, he thinks - Harry has always been very careful about putting his candles out before he leaves the house. 

His eyes return to the arrangement of little tea-lights and scented wax, then, and that’s when he sees it: Another of Harry’s notes, left just a few inches in front of the candle display. 

Again, Louis is a bit baffled— he hasn’t found another note since that last morning, after he’d spent the night extinguishing any and all of Harry’s doubts, and his first instinct is to hope that everything is still alright. However, as he steps up to the table and picks up the note, he finds very quickly that everything is more than alright. 

_“I don’t know about you, but I think forever has a nice ring to it…” _

He blinks, and reads the note over once more; it seems a bit incomplete, if he’s honest, and he’s not entirely sure why the word “ring” is underlined, but he doesn’t have more than a couple of seconds to think about it before a tap on his shoulder draws his attention away from his boyfriend’s loopy scrawl. 

He expects to find Harry standing there, beaming at him. What he finds is Harry standing there, beaming at him, and dropping to one knee. He exhales sharply, and his throat constricts with emotion before he can think to stop it. 

“Louis…” Harry starts, and Louis laughs, loud and wet. 

_“Oh my god.”_  
“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry tries again, and Louis is grinning, now, as his boy proceeds to pop open a tiny, velvet box. He can’t contain his giggly laughter as Harry holds the box out, revealing a pretty, golden engagement ring. “Forever has a nice _ring_ to it”. God.

“You _idiot_ ,” he snorts, scrubbing at the tears that have yet to fall and cursing himself for ever thinking that anything was wrong. 

“…will you marry me?” Harry finishes finally, and Louis can’t help but laugh merrily as he drops to his knees and gathers his boyfriend—no, his fiancé— up in his arms. 

“You’re horrible. Absolutely _horrible_ , and I love you,” he mutters, cupping Harry’s jaw with his hands and pressing a few sweet kisses to his lips. “And _of course_ I’ll marry you.” 

Harry makes a gleeful sound, then and pulls back a bit, just long enough to take Louis’s left hand in his own and slip the band safely onto Louis’s ring finger. He’s absolutely glowing as he kisses Louis’s knuckles and gathers him up in a bear hug once more, and neither of them care too much that they’re still kneeling on the kitchen floor as they fall into each other, giggly with excitement. 

“I _hate_ you,” Louis breathes, giving Harry a squeeze as he noses at the boy’s jaw. “I thought you were worried I was going to break up with you or summat.” 

Harry snorts, shaking his head at that. “Not at all, love. You just took that one wrong, s’all,” he grins, and sits back on his heels to grin at Louis, whose eye are narrowed. “It was meant to ask if I could call you by _my name._ And now I can, yeah?” 

The absurd way that Harry waggles his eyebrows at Louis makes him laugh loudly, and Louis purses his lips and quirks an eyebrow at him in response. 

“Oh, so it’s going to be Louis Styles, is it?” he teases, reaching to give one of Harry’s pretty curls a tug. Harry squeaks. “Why can’t it be Harry Tomlinson?” 

His fiancé softens at that, and there’s a distinctly fond glimmer in his eyes as he nods his head. If Harry’s body language has anything to say about it, he rather likes the idea. 

“‘Course it can,” he says, and Louis’s heart rabbits. “Long as I can still call you mine.” 

“Always yours, babe,” he sighs, and happily melts into Harry’s arms. The glint of his brand-new engagement band catches his eye as he wraps his arms around his beau, and he grins. Forever has a nice ring to it, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you made it all the way through without at least one of your teeth falling out, I commend you. I don't know how this fic ended up being nothing but fluff, but... here we are. I would love you very much if you left comments for me to read <3 You can find me on tumblr at cheshireflowers as well, if you're ever interested in chatting or seeing what sorts of shenanigans I'm into!


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